


umarry mwe, noyt (marry me, tony)

by goldtitainium



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (coutesy of thor), Attempt at Humor, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Steve Rogers, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Kinda, M/M, Magic Whiskey, Marriage Proposal, Superhusbands (Marvel), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bruce doesnt trust it, ish, just pure fluff, steve and tony are very married, steve just forgot once, thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 11:30:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17487281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldtitainium/pseuds/goldtitainium
Summary: the married version of-"i wasnt that drunk last night"-"you asked tony if he was single and cried when he said that he wasnt"ft. steve rogers drunk off magic whiskey who momentarily forgot he was married to his husband





	umarry mwe, noyt (marry me, tony)

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoy this weeks installment of dumb domestic fluff ft. the avengers (a note from management: this will not be a weekly occurance)

> **bird brain #1**  
>  tin can, we got ur boy DRUNK af on magic whiskey from thor. u aint gonna wanna miss it……...

Tony had been ~~not so~~ subtly checking his phone during the meeting, so when he’d gotten the text from Clint, he immediately jumped out of his chair and headed straight for the door in the middle of whatever the guy (he was pretty sure that he was an important guy or something), yelling something about a family emergency over his shoulder.  
He had faith that Pepper could handle whatever the Secretary of State ( _that’s who he was_ ) was on about.

He, in the meantime, had a husband who was drunk for the first time in over seventy years. And not just drunk, completely and utterly fucking _plastered_ , according to Clint, but he didn’t tell him anything more, the rest of his texts vague, blurry one second videos of someone yelling, well, slurring really, his name.

* * *

“Steven! I have a gift for you,” Thor wasted no time at all with greetings or any other menial things of that caliber when he strode into the kitchen, holding up a metal flask with intricate etchings swirling up the sides and small tendrils of blue steam leaking out from the seam between the lid and the body of the flask. 

He pressed it into Steve’s hands after pulling him in for a rough bear hug. Steve looked confused to say the least, and a little worried, “Did I forget a special day or-”

“No no, don’t worry, I remembered that you mentioned you missed getting drunk and brought this back for you. It gets you as drunk as you want to be,” Thor explained as Steve’s eyes widened in wonder and excitement. He pulled him down for a quick hug, squeezing tightly. 

“I’m gonna get fucking _bent_ ,” he declared, unscrewing the top and downing the entire thing, ears deaf to Thor’s warnings to take it easy, memories of him and Bucky sneaking a half empty bottle of rum up on to the roof of their apartment at 15, the sweet, smooth liquor sliding down his throat.

It tasted familiar and homely, a strange mix of cold nights in his apartment in the ‘30s and the warmth and the camaraderie of the fire from the campsites during the war and exhausted nights and slow mornings with Tony, all condensed into a sweet, sweet flavour that he’d definitely never had before, but it made him want to find Tony and hug him and hold him. 

He loved him so, so, so, so much. He was great. _No._ Greater. Than everything, _all_ the things. Even Lucky Charms. The best.

He should marry him someday. It’s _legal_ now.

Somehow, sometime, Thor had moved him into the living room and onto the couch. The rest of the team, sans Tony, so really just a bunch of people with powers, were surrounding him.  
“How do you feel Steve?” Bruce asked, slightly concerned. It wasn't that he didn't trust his boyfriend’s planet’s culture’s magic whiskey, he just-- no. He lied. He didn't trust magic whiskey of any kind. Not after that night with Strange.

Steve squinted up at him for a good five seconds and then pitched into a monologue.

“‘m g’d Dr. Mr. Squish’Sci’n. S’what T’ny calls th’ bi-ol-o-gee. He’s’a funny guy. An’ an’ an’ he’s great. D’y think he’s great, Dr. Mr. Bi?” Steve barely paused a second before rambling on, “C’se I do. ‘n tha’s the truuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuth,” he lolled his head back on the couch when he dragged out the ‘u’, staying quiet for barely a second again before giggling to himself, shoulders shaking and tears gathering into the corners of his eyes.

“Guys!” He said, straightening up again with the urgency as if he had the cure for cancer.  
“Toe-knee,” he delivered, eyes wide and began giggling again. And then stopped when everyone else was silent, staring back at him. “Guys,” he whined, slumping, “ _Toe-knee,_ ” he said again, with more emphasis, rolling his eyes when no-one got it. 

He blinked up at them for a few more seconds and then flopped over on his side so he was lying in the fetal position on the couch, hugging a pillow, half his face buried in it.  
“You ok buddy?” Clint asked, slipping his phone into his pocket. Steve made a whiny, sort of distressed noise into the pillow. 

“No,” he said, almost-- _definitely_ petulantly, “I miss Tony,” he mumbled morosely, eyes big and sad and lined with tears, “I love him so, so, so, so, so much, an’ his super super smart an’ funny an’ really f’ckin’ hot an’ his ass is the best an’ I love him an’ I miss him an-”

“What horrible things has your magic whiskey done to our capsicle?” Tony ( _Tony!!!!_ ) said, walking into the living room to see everyone surrounding the couch. 

“TONY!!” An adorably messy head of hair shooting up into view, yelling his name in a ridiculously happy way that made a warmth spread across his chest (he was fairly sure that it wasn’t the arc reactor) because _yes_ they’d been married a year (a whole fucking year) and a couple weeks and they’d been dating for four years on top of that, but he would bet Dum-e that they’d both be old and gray ~~er~~ and the most stereotypical old married couple ever and the warmth in his chest and teenager-giddiness he felt whenever Steve seemed excited or happy just to _see_ him, would never fade.

Tony walked over to the back of the couch, running a hand through his hair, kissing his forehead when he made a very content noise in the back of his throat, which was definitely a purr - Steve Rogers was a cat disguised as a Super-Soldier, he’d been saying it for years.

“You almost gave me a heart attack there, buddy,” he teased, hand still in Steve’s hair, playing with it with the tips of his fingers.  
His words had an immediate effect on Steve, ‘Guilty-Mother-Hen’ mode fully engaged, “‘m s’ry T’ny, I n’vr’ wan’ hurt’y’. I l’ve y’t’much. D’y need’a bandaid?” _Jesus,_ whatever Thor had given him was _good_.

“I’m fine, honey,” he reassured him. Steve squinted up at him for a few seconds and then seemingly decided that he wasn’t actively dying or in need of dire assistance, because he nodded, affirmatively, and then launched into a speil of how much he loved Tony, for the second time, he deduced from everyone’s eyerolls. 

Tony _knew_ all of it already, Steve had told him (sober) at their wedding, when he proposed, whispered during thousands of mornings and nights spent together, too many times in hospitals straight out of the ICU, but hearing it, from such a carefree, innocent manner, in a way he hadn’t seen on Steve in, well, _ever_ was something new entirely that made his heart do funny things for many different reasons he didn't have any time to unpack right now.

Because Steve was pawing clumsily at his chest, fumbling with his shirt buttons, batting his tie out of the way. “-an’, an’ he’s’m’ li’-ni. Ni’li’t.” he frowned, adorably, sticking his tongue out and carefully saying ‘night light’, hands still pawing at Tony's chest. 

“He keep’s’all th’ ni’mares faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar’away. C’se I don’ like th’ dark an’ he’s’m’ _night-light_ ,” he continued conversationally, looking up from Tony’s chest to his eyes, “he’s s’s’s’s’s’s’s’s’ good t’me, an’ he’s’a good guy, an’ I l’ve him.”

Tony swallowed past a lump in his throat, which was _ridiculous_ because Steve was drunk off his ass and had no clue what he was saying or doing, _a drunk man’s actions, sober man’s thoughts,_ floating to the front of his mind, and kissed Steve’s forehead again.  
“You’re good to me too, sweetheart,” he murmured against the crown of his head.  
Steve was positively _beaming_ when he pulled away. He could power the fucking _sun_ with that smile.

He gasped excitedly, back straightening up and pawing at Tony’s hands until he held them, “T’ny, T’ny, T’ny. Can’y’ marry me? I think we’d be good t’g’ther an’ I pr’mise t’be the bestest husband for you!”

Tony chuckled, along with the rest of the team, who were all recording them. “Steve,” he said gently, considering his next words, he couldn’t pass this up and his husband _had_ forgotten that they were married, after all.

“Honey, I’m already married,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips as he held up his left hand, showing him a simple gold ring.

“Oh.” 

Steve dropped like a puppet with it’s strings cut, hand sliding out Tony’s, drooping over the back of the couch, like a dejected golden retriever, eyes welling up with tears. 

He looked _heartbroken._

Tony was practically a criminal now. But before he could reassure him (and/or turn himself in to the NYPD), Steve looked up at him, tears slipping down his face, “‘m s’ry T’ny. I hope- I hope that whoev- whoe’ver y’ married to is th’ best. C’se y’ deserve the best, T’ny, c’se, c’se y’ greater.”

“Steve, honey,” Tony said, thickly, dropping to his knees and reaching up to brush away his tears, “I have the best, baby, I’m married to _you_ ,” he picked up Steve’s left hand and pressed a kiss to his ring, and then gently tugging it off, showing him the inscription on the inside, _I’m not half as good at anything as I am when I’m doing it next to you_.  
He slipped it back on his finger when Steve had finished reading it and was staring at Tony in nothing short of wonderment, and wound his fingers through his. 

Tony leaned forwards and kissed Steve on the lips, slow and gentle, trying to pour every bit of emotion he felt towards him into the kiss, with every swipe of his tongue he tried to convey how much he meant to him. Steve tasted of honey and apple and _home_.

When they finally pulled away, the sheer joy, happiness and pure _love_ on his face was unrivalled by anything Tony had ever seen.  
Forget powering the sun, he was bright enough for the entire _fucking universe_.

“Do I make you happy?” he whispered, reverently, gazing up at Tony, hand winding clumsily, but gentle, through his hair  
Tony kissed the corner of his mouth “Steven Grant Rogers, you make me happier than I’ve ever been.”

* * *

“How are you not hungover?” Tony grumbled, incredulously, walking into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist from behind, hindering his breakfast-cooking, and he pressed an absent minded kiss to his back, letting his forehead fall forwards to rest in between his shoulder blades and slipping his eyes shut. 

Steve flipped the last pancake, then shut off the hob and turned around to hug Tony properly, kissing his forehead as a good morning greeting. They stood hugging for a couple minutes as the rest of the team trickled in, including Sam and Bucky who were ‘out of town’ yesterday.  
They broke apart when Clint started throwing Cheerios at them, for being too sickly sweet and domestic too early in the day. Tony flipped him off and tugged a stack of pancakes towards him, drowning in them in syrup.

He mused silently, flicking through something on a StarkPad while digging through his pancakes.  
He turned to face Steve, “Wait, wait, Steve, _how are you not hungover_?”  
Steve gave him an odd look, “Tony, honey, I don’t think I was that drunk.”

Around them the rest of the Avengers hid various degrees of laughter behind food and cups of coffee, “What?” Steve asked, looking around, confused.  
Yeah, he couldn’t remember what had happened past pounding Thor’s magic whiskey, but that didn’t mean he was _that_ drunk, right? 

“Steve…” Natasha started, lowering her fork, “you asked Tony to marry you.”

“So what, we’re married,” Steve said, smiling at Tony. He didn’t think he’d ever get over the fact that he was _married_ to the incredible man sitting next to him. 

“Tony said that he was already married and you cried,” Natasha finished, taking a sip of her coffee.

The back of Steve’s neck heated up in embarrassment and he turned to Tony, betrayed.  
Tony, in return, shrugged and said, “You did forget that we were married.” When Steve just back stared at him, he kissed his cheek in apology, “You were a very sweet drunk.”

* * *

Later, when they were lying in bed, Steve flicking through a book and Tony running through a couple schematics on a StarkPad, when Steve suddenly turned to Tony, shutting his book and putting it on his nightstand, “You have a video of me when I was drunk right?”

Tony looked up at him, “Yeah, JARVIS had it saved to my Steve folder.”

“Can I watch it?”

… 

“You know,” Steve began, when the video shut of, curling an arm around Tony’s shoulders and kissing his cheek, “all’a that’s true, you’re my best guy.”  
Tony blushed, a dark flush spreading over his cheeks, “You fucking meatball,” he mumbled, hiding his face in Steve’s shirt. They’d been together for _half a decade_ he shouldn’t still be blushing over lines from the fucking _forties_.

“Yeah,” Steve conceded, pulling Tony closer, “but you married me.” 

“Yeah,” Tony said, softer than than he intended, “I did,” he pulled back a little to kiss Steve, unhurried and gentle, warm, soft lips sliding against each other, the slightest hint of tongue slipping in.

“I love you, even if you did forget that we were married,” Tony said, against Steve’s lips when they pulled away, breathing a little hard.  
“Won’t happen again,” Steve murmured, far too distracted by Tony’s reddening lips, kissing him in between words, “promise.”

* * *

The next time Steve got drunk, a few months later, on his birthday, Tony wrote ‘PROPERTY OF STARK INDUSTRIES’ on his forehead, to make sure he stayed true to his promise. 

Steve was grinning uncontrollably for the entire night after he saw his reflection.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!  
> tumblr: nohalfway


End file.
